


I would have waited forever

by sherlock221Bismymuse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, Mycroft is a Softie, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Being an Idiot, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-08
Packaged: 2019-10-01 12:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 12,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlock221Bismymuse/pseuds/sherlock221Bismymuse
Summary: Post- Sherringford Sherlock starts appreciating Mycroft’s role in his life and decides he wants to spend more time with him. So he visits him..... but then an unexpected discovery throws him off kilter and he is hell bent on solving this new puzzle he has suddenly been confronted with





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译/Mylock】I would have waited forever](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17617997) by [Shadow_Yanice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadow_Yanice/pseuds/Shadow_Yanice)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been translated into Chinese by the wonderful Shadow_Yanice :) Thank you and it's a thrill to know that this pair has so many fans everywhere !!

Sherlock had been visiting Eurus every week and playing the violin with her.

Despite the horrors she had visited on them, he had felt something deep down……a sorrow at how unloved she had felt…… some guilt maybe at how her unrequited desire for his time and attention had led to this cascade of disasters….a need to compensate for all that lost time with some of his own in the present.

In the meanwhile he himself was still sorting out his own feelings over what had happened. Not just at Sherringford, but all the life events that had led him and his siblings there.

Their childhood, their genius, their ability to see patterns and be ten steps ahead of the game. It had led Mycroft to become the British Government, Sherlock to constantly solve puzzles and Eurus………to try and destroy them all.

The fact that she had actually _murdered_ his childhood friend made Sherlock shiver every time he remembered it. She had been only a child herself at the time but when he realized the depth of her jealousy because she wanted to have his attention to herself, he wondered anew at the mysteries and terror of emotions and feelings.

No wonder Mycroft kept reminding him that _all lives end, all hearts are broken._

_Caring is not an advantage….. Sherlock._

_._

_._

As he was mulling over this , something uncoiled slowly but surely inside his brain and he remembered Mycroft saying that sentence to him when they were identifying ‘Irene’ at the morgue.  

Mycroft had turned up there, despite the late hour. Had even offered him a cigarette, knowing that it would comfort him. Understanding, as always, what he really needed.

Being there for him. As always.

 _Caring_ for him. As always.

Despite his own advice to the contrary…..

And Sherlock was suddenly overcome with the realization of how poorly he had reciprocated any of that.

_If he was willing to spend time with Eurus after all the things she had done to destroy them, how much more did he owe to Mycroft who had done nothing but look out for him?!_

_Always….._

So, with his usual impatience, having reached this conclusion, he decided to make a start at once by visiting Mycroft that evening.

He wouldn’t ask him in advance because then Mycroft would just ask questions and dissuade him.

No. he would just turn up.

He checked with Anthea and found out that Mycroft was indeed home that evening, told John he was going out after dinner and just turned up and rang the doorbell to his brother’s home.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Mycroft looked surprised when he answered the door and then instantly worried.

“Is everything ok, Sherlock?”

“Yes of course it is ok.” Sherlock said curtly. “Well, about as ‘ok’ as life can be after one’s secret sister tries to kill you and a dozen people die in the collateral damage.”

Mycroft promptly looked stricken. “I am sorry Sherlock. It is all my fault. I should never have….” He closed his eyes for a moment and Sherlock thought he saw him sway a bit. But the moment passed and when the eyes opened, they were back to being calm and in control. “Why did you come then?”

“Can I only come to you when I am in trouble?” Sherlock asked wryly, realizing even as he said so that he had genuinely never reached out to his big brother for any other reason in his entire adult life.

It made him feel hot and cold all over. _How could he have neglected this man who had done nothing but look out for him?_

Now, after seeing what Eurus had become, he didn’t have a shred of annoyance left at the constant surveillance and the looming shadow of his presence in his life.

_What he had assumed was interference was merely caution….and highly justified caution at that…_

“I am surprised that you are willing to talk to me at all….”Mycroft was saying.

“Don’t be ridiculous Mycroft. None of this was your fault! Ignore what Mummy said. She was angry and upset and lashed out. No one blames you…..and if they do they are idiots.”

Mycroft gave him a sad nod, as though accepting the words but not really sure that they were real.

Sherlock could see it in his eyes again. The despair and the pain and the guilt.

Suddenly, he wasn’t sure this visit had been a good idea. They had never been very good with _feelings_ ….and now it seemed as though they were doomed to wallow in nothing but…..

_Did they have the skills to navigate their way through this swamp…..?_

_._

_._

Mycroft led him in to the living room where he had been sitting and having a drink. He offered one to Sherlock who refused.

Sherlock didn’t really enjoy drinking. He had a suspicion that neither did Mycroft, much, and that he drank socially only because it would help him blend in his diplomatic circles.

However, just like everything else he did, if he _had_ to drink, it would be the best.

His suits were the finest wool and crafted rather than tailored. His library made of an eclectic collection of first editions and rare books. And this bottle of whisky seemed to be something that would cost as much as Sherlock’s Belstaff. Though of course not as much as his Stradivarius……

He narrowed his eyes as he remembered that both these items--- the most expensive and exquisite things he possessed--- had been gifted to him by Mycroft.

.

.

They sat down across each other, one wary and the other unsure.

Mycroft wondering why Sherlock had come to visit.

Sherlock wondering why he had never done this before.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mask slips and things are said. Things which confuse Sherlock and terrify Mycroft.

After a minute Mycroft spoke. “Doesn’t Dr. Watson spend his evenings with you, now that he has moved back?”

Sherlock looked at him for a moment before responding, noting the sharp undercurrent in his tone. “You really don’t like John do you?”

Mycroft shrugged. “But you really do…”

" And yet you were willing to sacrifice yourself for him?!"

" Not for him." Mycroft said, looking away.

 

Sherlock blinked. _If not for John then who for??_ But he replied. “He is my only friend.”

“Really? And what about Greg? Molly?”

“They only have to deal with me at work……. I don’t know whether they would tolerate me for the extended periods that John does.”

“Tolerate you??!”

“You know that I am the most unpleasant, rude, ignorant and all-round obnoxious arsehole that anyone could possibly have the misfortune to meet…..”  


He was cut off by Mycroft who looked at him furiously. “Stop it Sherlock. Stop being an idiot. Not a word of that is true!! If anything it is John who doesn’t deserve you.”

“Why do you hate John so much?” Sherlock asked again, genuinely curious.

“Oh no reason at all…” Mycroft said, in a voice dripping with sarcasm. “Besides the uncalled for violence and the abandonment……”

“Abandonment?” Sherlock was confused. “When did he do that?”

“When you were……gone.”

“I abandoned him Mycroft.”

“He didn’t wait for you.”

“It was never like that between us. We were never together in that sense….you of all people should know that. And even if we were…..he thought I was dead……….. And it had been two years.”

“I would have waited.”

.

.

There was a thick silence as Mycroft realized what he had said. There was a fleeting glimpse of something akin to fear ( _and was it vulnerability??_ ) in his eyes even as he quickly glanced away.

Sherlock was stunned. He had never (ever?) heard Mycroft say anything like this before……. _This….. confession….?_ _Is that what it was?_

He had to unscramble his brain and slowly form words and sentences to cut through the silence.

“For how long?” Sherlock asked finally. “For how long would you have waited?”

The Iceman mask was firmly back in place now, the shape shifting persona of the British Government having recovered from its wobble. Mycroft took a deep breath and Sherlock thought for a moment that he was going to change the topic or refuse to answer.

But he replied. And although his tone was soft and velvet there was steel in its core when he spoke.

“I would have waited…….forever.”

.

.

Sherlock’s brain came to a screeching halt.

_How had he been so blind??! No partner, yet the ring._

_Always alone…but says he isn’t lonely……OBVIOUSLY Mycroft loved someone......someone he couldn’t have……!!_

Sherlock cleared his throat and asked cautiously, unable to resist. He HAD to know. “Is there someone you are waiting for….Mycroft?”

There was no answer and Mycroft blinked and looked away.

_The man who was trained to never crack under the harshest interrogation was not going to give up his secrets so easily was he?_

So Sherlock tried a different line of questioning. Despite having never thought of Mycroft’s sexuality he was quite certain that the person concerned would be a man.

He asked Mycroft. “Does he know you love him?”

“I don’t think so.”

“So why can’t you tell him…….?”

“Because…..”

“Is he married?”

“Yes…..in a way.”

“What does that even mean Mycroft?! But if he knew, surely…..…”

“No. We can never be together that way.”

“And you will still wait for him…..… _forever_?”

.

.

Sherlock was now shaken to his very core. The recent events and the flat intonation of his lost sister came back to him.

_“Emotional context dear brother. Gets you every time.”_

Sherlock knew that Mycroft was always, had always been, (would always be) something _more_ than anyone he had ever known.

In every possible way.

_More_ brilliant. _More_ restrained. _More_ powerful. _More_ perfect.

But he had never even imagined him capable of more….… _feelings?_

A part of him was now beginning to remember the days when he had loved his brother, adored him even, and those feelings had been returned in full measure. That family video he had caught Mycroft watching showed a teenage boy fondly watching out for his baby brother.

Sherlock found himself remembering those moments, that caring, that love.

Unconditional. Infinite.

_When had that changed? Why had that gone away? What had made that loving adolescent into the Iceman?_

_Who had hurt him so much with this unrequited impossible love that he had taken to always reminding Sherlock that ‘caring is not an advantage’?_

The ‘Iceman’ was clearly just the tip of the iceberg. _What buried treasure lay underneath those deceptively calm ice blue oceans…..…_

As Sherlock was tangled in these thoughts and deductions, he didn’t notice the expression akin to panic that passed fleetingly over Mycroft’s usually carefully passive face.

Then Mycroft got up slowly and said, polite as ever “I must confess that I am truly exhausted today Sherlock and not very good company I am afraid. But thank you for dropping in.” He hesitated. “You are always welcome any time. As I hope you know. But I must bid you goodnight now……If you choose to stay since it is late, you are, again, always welcome and the guest room is always ready. Goodnight brother mine.”

With a nod, he walked to the kitchen to place his glass on the counter and then started to slowly climb the staircase that would take him up to his bedroom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock sees things he wasn't meant to and he is shaken.

Sherlock sat there like a marble statue with his fingers steepled under his chin.

But his blood and brains were on fire with this new puzzle he had to solve.

He waited till Mycroft went into his bedroom and gave him half an hour to settle in and even fall asleep. Then he hacked into the security camera feed from Mycroft’s office room.

The feed showed all the rooms except the bedroom.

_Of course. That was to be expected._

But then he rewound the recording for that evening and saw Mycroft after he had climbed up the stairs, lowering himself down, wearily, till he was sitting on the top step, with his head in his hands.

Sherlock watched with an increasing sense of bewilderment and unease at what he was seeing.

Mycroft was just sitting there with his head in his hands and his shoulders had sagged and he looked so helpless that it made Sherlock feel something very strange.

His blood ran hot and cold all over. A small groundswell of intense protectiveness was rising inside him.

In a flash he remembered an incident from their childhood in which some older cousin had teased Mycroft during one of those hateful family gatherings they kept having. Sherlock had barrelled into the unfortunate cousin and bitten him in the stomach.

“Leave my Mycie alone!” he had shouted and in the melee that ensued it was finally Mycroft who had managed to pull him away before more violence threatened to destroy the party like a scene out of Lord of the Flies.

.

.

Today he was looking at the screen as Mycroft sat there for half a minute.

A long, very long half a minute, in which Sherlock was discovering that the same feeling which had filled his blood with boiling rage and a possessive protective force all those years ago had been unleashed once again.

He must have been all of 5 years old then but he remembered the feeling of grim certainty in his head that he would tear the planet apart if anyone caused his Mycie to ever have that expression of hurt on his face.

And here he was now, seeing that same expression…..

An impotent rage filled him and his fists curled in his lap. Something was snaking through his blood like smoke and lighting his insides on fire……..and just when he thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, he saw that Mycroft had lifted his head and was standing up with the help of the balustrade……….

And then he wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand.

_Were those tears ….???_

_ Tears??! _

Sherlock was more alarmed than if he had seen Mount Everest melting in real time. His knees shook. His fists clutched at his chest in an imitation of the despair he could see staring at him from the screen.

Atlas was shaking…….and then the entire planet seemed to tilt under his feet.

_His Mycroft? His big brother was…… crying?_

Blind rage took over his conscious thoughts.

_Who the hell was this wretch who had made his Mycie cry?_

Every fibre of his being reacted with fury and every protective instinct reared its head.

_He would hunt down this person and figure out a way to make Mycie happy. His brother deserved that. And more. Much more…SO much more….._

He was filled with speechless anger at this unnamed person who certainly couldn’t possibly deserve this love.

He was going to make it his mission to hunt him down.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The World's Only Consulting Detective is setting up a framework for deductions and keeps getting lost in his Mind Palace.

Sherlock found himself unable to stop thinking about this. He barely slept but even when he did, his waking thought was the same as the one he fell asleep with.

He spent the next few days trying to answer only one question:

_What kind of a man could Mycroft have lost his heart to?!_

.

.

He simply could not imagine _anyone_ who would _ever_ be worthy. He was fleetingly shocked to realize how highly he thought of his brother. No one was worthy……..but clearly someone had found his way…..

_Who could it possibly be?_

He would have to be not just intelligent but even brilliant. Perhaps even a genius.

Sherlock could not imagine hi big brother lasting even one day in the company of a goldfish. He needed someone with electric intelligence and lightening quick repartee. A vast knowledge of so many things. Vast in range as well as depth. A capacity to analyse. Reflect. Perhaps even deduce.

Mycroft knew so much about everything really-----from politics to astronomy and history to psychology.

_Was there anyone on this planet who knew as many facts and patterns and had such a deep understanding of the world and the way it functioned?_

Mycroft would probably expect the man he loved to know that the Sun revolved around the Earth, Sherlock though with a huff. Or the other way around. Or whichever way it went.

He pictured Mycroft and this man sitting by the fireplace, sipping some awful poncy drink, having some _idiotic_ ‘intelligent’ conversations. Time travel. Geo politics of the Middle East. Robotics. Evolution.

_Tedious._

The way they used to talk in front of the fireplace in the library, during the college holidays when Mycroft was home. He would read out the news and talk to Sherlock about world affairs……….and he would read science fiction and explain how things could possibly be made real. Or he would analyse the solving of some crime or mystery and explain how patterns could be deduced. Or he would tell Sherlock about people in other countries and their lives.

But if he managed to hunt down this mystery man and got them together then Mycroft would do all these conversations and talking with that man…… sitting by the fireplace.....sipping some expensive and ridiculous drink.

Which would be good because then his annoying big brother would have no time to drop in and harass him at Baker Street would he….and maybe he would be too busy to bother him with his surveillance….

That would be very good…. Would it not??

_Then why did the thought make him hate this man now…..?_

_._

_._

John came home from the clinic to find Sherlock throwing random things into the fireplace.

“Sherlock! Stop it!! Why are you throwing all these papers into the fireplace? And this…this is the packet of coffee that Greg got for me from his sister….Stop it!” He yelled as a tea towel flew across the room and landed on his shoulder. “What is wrong with you??”

“I hate the fireplace.” Sherlock muttered and stormed off into his room and banged the door shut.

.

.

.

The next day, as soon as he woke up, his first thought was to decide that the man Mycroft loved would not be too young…. but probably not too old either….

He would be mature of course, but not stodgy.

Mycroft may be a government employed diplomat through and through but Sherlock remembered his Lady Bracknell and smiled. The way Mycroft would mince and swan about wearing that ridiculous hat and gown.

_Surely he would not fall in love with someone who had no sense of humour??_

He remembered Mycroft’s favourite joke with his English tutor, while they were studying grammar in the library.

“The past, the present and the future walked into a bar. It was tense.”

He remembered watching Mycroft laugh.

_When was the last time he had seen him laugh like that………..??_

_Would he laugh in the company of this man?_

_Would they share some jokes that Sherlock would not know about anymore?_

Sherlock scowled deeply at the thought and brushed his teeth very angrily.

_._

_._

Someone had kept tea for him in the kitchen.

As he drank it he thought that this man would have superb taste too. Exquisite taste in fact.

In the arts, literature, music.

Maybe they would visit all the museums and art galleries and Mycroft would tell that man about the paintings and statues and their interpretation and significance. The way he used to when he had taken Sherlock to the British Museum, all those years ago…..

And the man would go with Mycroft and visit his favourite Dippy in the Museum of Natural History.

Sherlock clenched his jaw at that thought. It was their special place. As far as he knew no one else on this entire planet knew that Mycroft called the dinosaur Dippy and that the two of them had a special story about it.

He put his teacup down with some force. Huh.

Well….he would just tell Mycroft not to take this man there. That’s all. Mycroft would have to listen to him. _Wouldn’t he?_

He could take this man to some tedious plays and shows instead. Obviously this man would have to have discerning taste in music. After all, Mycroft loved the opera and he played the piano. He played it well but not as masterfully as he himself played the violin, Sherlock thought and suddenly his mind went into many jumbled up directions all at once.

He remembered the music lessons they had had as children, when Mycroft would sit upright and disciplined at the piano keys while Sherlock pranced around like a mad gypsy child with his violin (‘your _fiddle_ ’ as Mycroft used to call it when the bratty behaviour finally got on his nerves).

The duets they practised together…..when sometimes Mycroft would stop playing the piano and just listen to Sherlock on the violin. Eyes closed, savouring the music. Sherlock suddenly became aware of how much he missed that. That feeling of pride--- that his big brother, whose impeccable taste meant he only enjoyed the best of the best, would close his eyes and enjoy his violin playing.

Surely the man Mycroft loved would understand music and appreciate it, even if he didn’t play any instrument himself.

 _But what if he did play something…….._ _and then Mycroft would play with him and for him……..and Mycroft would praise him and listen to him with his eyes closed_….

Sherlock stood up suddenly and picked up his violin and played a very loud and angry tune indeed.

After a few minutes of this torture John came down from his room to ask what was wrong but the thunderous scowl and the intense body language had him beat a hasty retreat back up the stairs.

He reached out for his ear plugs instead and tried to go back to reading his medical journal.

.

.

That next day Sherlock wondered-- _would Mycroft fall in love with someone who was not good looking?_

He considered that for a bit and came to the conclusion that he might. The mind would be the biggest draw for sure………but even if the man was not good looking he would certainly be something unique. Something out of the ordinary.

And surely the man would dress well--- even if not as elegantly as Mycroft himself. Yes, he would be in well- tailored clothes, with impeccable grooming.

Sherlock looked down at himself sprawled on the sofa in his pajamas and dressing gown. _Not someone who dressed like this surely….but everyone was entitled to be a bit scruffy at home….it’s not like he wore his bedsheet to the Palace after all….…..oops, yeah. Well….whatever._

Sherlock smiled as he remembered the strange expression on Mycroft’s face that day. Horror of course and exasperation….but then he had stepped on his sheet…. _must have got an eyeful of his back and other bits._

Sherlock swatted that thought away. Mycroft had, of course, been perfectly put together on that day as always.

Suddenly Sherlock wondered what _he_ wore to bed…. He had never thought of it earlier but…… silk pajamas surely. Maybe they were monogrammed.

He rolled his eyes at the thought.

_When was the last time he saw Mycroft sleeping? Relaxed?_

He remembered the many, so many nights as a child when he would over- think and get nightmares and his head would be so noisy and full of scary ideas and he would run to Mycie’s bedroom and get under the sheets with him.

Mycroft would grumble at his cold hands and feet and nose but would always draw him closer and soothe him.

He had a sudden image of Mycroft with this man…this awful… undeserving man-person…in the bed with him. Also wearing disgusting silk pajamas. Lying down next to Mycroft. Moving closer under the sheets….

He shuddered.

_Would Mycroft let anyone else that close to him?_

As close as Sherlock used to be?

Would he hold him, soothe him, even …cuddle him?

Would this man smell good?

Yes, he probably would. Smell good. Feel warm. Fit into his arms. Maybe tuck his head under his chin……..like he used to. Maybe Mycroft would ruffle his hair too….maybe he would kiss him…….

Surely he would kiss him…..

Suddenly Sherlock had a pit in his stomach and a very black mood indeed.

It was because he was _so angry_ with this man. This _hateful_ undeserving man who was making Mycroft so unhappy.

_What other reason could there be of course?! This was absurd._

He picked up his violin and played such a devastatingly melancholy tune that John grabbed his coat and went out for some fresh air. Because even earplugs couldn’t stop him from feeling the misery wrung out of those strings and from making him feel like weeping.

.

.

That night as Sherlock lay on his bed, restless and unable to sleep, he tried to put all these clues into an image.

Mycroft’s tastes were exquisite in everything else. Unparalleled.

So, surely this man he was in love with would have to be someone truly amazing….someone worthy…….

Mycroft would look at him and smile …… as though he was something precious.

Sherlock knew what that expression would look like because he had seen it so often as a child…..fond and indulgent and loving. As though the rest of the world could fall away but Mycroft would hold him in his gaze till the end of time.

 _Well, that hadn’t lasted very long had it_ ….he scowled, remembering those later years when Mycroft’s mouth would turn down at the corners and his face would look unhappy and he would tell Sherlock _Promise me, there will always be a list._

No, Mycroft would never have to disapprove of this man’s behaviour, or haul him out of drug dens or tell him off for being rude or thoughtless……..Mycroft would always be so proud of him.

Would be happy to be with him.

.

.

Sherlock felt a twinge of _something_ when he came to that conclusion.

An odd burning feeling in his chest. It was curiosity wasn’t it? Restlessness perhaps? Anxiety to hunt this person down?

 _Could it be jealousy? No… of course not._ That made no sense.

But what if …….what if it was a case of opposites attract…….and this man was someone who was rather dull but full of emotions?

_Ugh. No._

Even thinking of it made his skin crawl. A foolish smiling sentimental man with an average brain….no. No way.

.

.

But all these clues were still in a vacuum …….and he was no closer to figuring out who this man was and where he could find him.

He needed to go looking for more clues.

And then…… once he eliminated the impossible, whatever was left…. no matter how improbable, had to be the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dippy is from the epic saga that is 'Human Remains' by saziikins. It is a Mystrade fic.  
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/625064


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh Sherlock, you hear but do not comprehend !!!

So he decided to interview/interrogate everyone who could possibly have clues to guide him.

.

.

He went to Greg first because of all the people they knew in common he had known Mycroft the longest.

After Greg spent close to ten minutes in pondering his question and scratching his head, Sherlock got fed up and impatient and snarled at him. “Are you planning to respond sometime in this century Lestrade?!”

Greg shook his head, still baffled. “Someone who Mycroft would love? Besides you? And….. I guess your Mum…. …….I honestly cannot recall, in all these years of knowing him……. anyone he would care for so deeply. But he is an intensely private man as you know, and has made a career out of keeping secrets……..so…” And he shrugged.

Then Sherlock decided to ask the others to write the list for him. He couldn’t bear the thought of waiting around for more pondering and contemplation from the others. _Tedious!! Boring!!_

_._

_._

So when he confronted John the next day he brusquely pushed a paper and pen at him.

“John----write down the names of anyone you know who Mycroft cares for deeply. Be quick”

John stared at him, baffled. Then he stared at the paper for a bit and said. “Besides you….? Can’t imagine.”

Sherlock almost growled at him at this non-answer and stormed off to meet Anthea.

.

.

She saw his thunderous scowl and was about to warn him off from entering the room where Mycroft was holding a meeting when he raised his hand imperiously and stopped her.

“I came to talk to you.” He said. “I need information.”

Anthea raised an eyebrow and looked at him.

“Is there anyone Mycroft meets often?” He asked her

“Besides you?” She asked, thinking. “The only person he has voluntarily met twice as a personal dinner is the last Ambassador from Japan. Mr. Ishiguro.’

“No, no. I mean is there anyone he is _fond_ of?”

“Besides you?” She asked again.

“Anthea, do not be deliberately obtuse! Does he have any romantic interest? Someone for whom he will cancel any plan, drop any other engagement…..no matter what the day or time and where he is or who he is with?”

Anthea crossed her hands and pursed her lips. If she didn’t care for and respect her boss so much she honestly would not take this nonsense from his brother.

“You.” She said sharply. “He does all that for you.”

“Ugh.” Sherlock almost exploded and turned on his heels and stormed out.

.

.

He called Mummy.

She almost panicked when she realized who was calling. She could not recall a single occasion in the last decade or even more when Sherlock had called her on his own.

“Is everything ok Sherlock?” She asked.

“Yes Mummy. It is all fine. I had a question for you. No one else seems to know the answer. Who would Mycroft give up anything for?”

“Besides you?” She asked, puzzled. “Why do you want to know?”

“It is a matter of national importance!” Sherlock declared.

“Has Eurus…….Oh Sherlock……has something happened to Myke?”

“No, no. Mummy-- he is fine. Just please answer my question!” Sherlock almost yelled at her.

“I can’t imagine who Sherlock……ever since you were born, his entire universe has revolved around you…” She said musing.

“Oh for heaven’s sake….Bye Mummy!” Sherlock said before he cut the phone.

.

.

_Why was he surrounded by IDIOTS??? How was he supposed to solve this puzzle when people were just not observant enough?!_

 

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock goes undercover and stalks Mycroft for a week.   
> Earns 12 pounds sitting outside a Tube station while dressed as a homeless person....and probably spends hundreds in taxi fare.....

_People were useless. They would see but they would not observe. He was going to have to do some legwork to get his answers._

He needed this answer. Desperately.

Every day that passed without an answer was one more day when he had not reduced his Mycie’s pain.

_That was simply un-acceptable._

So, he decided to go undercover and follow Mycroft for a week. Surely if it was someone in his circle of social or professional contacts he was likely to bump into that person once in a while.

He would then analyse his body language and draw his conclusions.

.

.

So, on Monday, to John’s astonishment Sherlock was ready and out of the flat by 6.30 am. Dressed like a homeless person.

“Where are you going Sherlock? Is there a case? Sherlock!!” John called out as Sherlock clattered down the stairs of the flat.

“Laterz” Sherlock yelled back and slammed the front door shut, bringing Mrs. Hudson out of her flat tutting in annoyance.

.

.

Sherlock rushed to Mycroft’s house and lurked about outside waiting for him to leave for work. Then he ‘magicked’ a cab and followed him.

Straight to office. _Dull._

He hung around near the office all day and managed to earn 12 pounds just by sitting outside the Tube Station. He perked up when he saw Mycroft leave his office at 7 pm…finally! And took another cab to follow him.

Mycroft went straight home and then did not come out again. _Tedious._

Tuesday was much the same. _Boring._

As was Wednesday morning.

But at 1 pm sharp Mycroft came out of his office, umbrella in hand, walked down slowly to the walled garden near the offices and sat on a bench and ate a sandwich.

Sherlock sat in a far corner and watched him, convinced that he had a rendezvous with someone here.

However, Mycroft sat there for half an hour, apparently in quiet and solitary contemplation and then started to walk back to his office building.

Sherlock could not see him very clearly from where he was hiding behind some bushes, but he did not like the expression on his face at all. It looked melancholy and wistful. It looked Not Good.

He was itching to grab hold of Mycroft and shake him and …and…ugh.

Do _something_. He didn’t know what.

So on an impulse he pulled out his phone and called him.

He saw Mycroft take out his own phone, look at it, obviously see Sherlock’s name as the caller and then….then he smiled.

_Mycroft smiled?!_ He didn’t look worried or annoyed or frustrated….. _he smiled?_

That made Sherlock lose his chain of thought and he just cut the phone abruptly. He saw Mycroft frown at the phone and he seemed to be about to all him back so he quickly sent him a text.

{Mis-dialled. SH}

Mycroft looked at the message, let out a deep breath and walked back into the office building.

Sherlock waited under the trees for the rest of the day, remembering that smile on Mycroft’s face, till his big brother left the office building again at 7 pm, got into his car and went home.

.

.

Thursday started off the same but Sherlock was startled to find that the return journey took them to Baker Street.

_Huh. That was going to be awkward_.

So he made sure he got off earlier and stood across the street from his own flat. He saw Mycroft enter and counted off the 17 steps in his head. Exactly as he counted, he saw the curtain move a little as the door to their flat was opened, probably by John. Within a few seconds after that Mycroft was back down the stairs and inside his car.

Sherlock jumped into a cab and followed him again….…as he went straight home. He hung around across the street for a while in case Mycroft went out later for the night but gave up after two hours and went home.

He was grumbling to himself.

_How could his brother even have found anyone to care for if all he did was work, work, more work and drop in to see him at Baker Street?!_

Well, there were three more days to go before the week ended.

.

.

On Friday he followed Mycroft as usual but that day his car went to the House of Lords in Westminster Abbey and he got swallowed by the building and did not emerge till 7 pm again. Sherlock had a headache by then from listening to the Big Ben toll every hour and from trying to list all the people there who Mycroft could possibly care for.

Lord Archbishop of Canterbury—too old

Lord Archbishop of York—too straight

Lord Bishop of London—a woman

Lord Bishop of Durham—too dull

Lord Bishop of Winchester—their own third cousin

Lord Archer of Westin-super-Mare---hmm. Intelligent. Bestselling author. Witty. But done jail time for perjury. Unlikely candidate.

Baron Anderson of Ipswich—Barrister, so must be clever. Independent Reviewer of Terrorism Legislation. Hmm…..understands politics. Possible? But 63 years old. Too old for Mycroft.

Baron Alistair of Cambridge— married and has four children. But shortlisted for the Nobel for his chemistry research. Plays the clarinet….Hmm

Person of Interest Number One.

And so on and so forth till he reached the Baron Ainsley of St John’s who had been the Minister of Foreign and Commonwealth Affairs.

The Foreign Office.

Aha.

He was the New Person of Interest Number One.

He moved Baron Alistair to position Two.

.

.

As luck would have it, he saw Mycroft leave the building at 6.45 pm, _finally_ , and then he saw him stop, turned back to look and wait for the man who must have called out to him. They smiled at each other and spoke. Mycroft made a call, probably to his driver, because then he walked with this man and got into the man’s car with him and left.

Oho!! New Person of Interest Number One!!

Baron Ainsley was now at Two and Baron Alistair at Three.

They were too far away for Sherlock to be able to follow but he had taken a photo of the man and the car and took off to Scotland Yard to harass Lestrade into identifying the number plate.

The Game was On!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Is it a case of mistaken identities......or mis-understood motives?? Hmmm...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter for all of you today !! An advance gift to celebrate Sherlock's birthday which is in two days :)

Lestrade had been tedious and demanded he ‘show cause’ for spying on a Member of Parliament so he had gone home and hacked into their database and found that this man was just someone working liaison and in his opinion utterly not worthy of Mycroft.

_Huh. One down two to go._

But then two entire days of intensive research on the two Barons left him with no worthy options either.

They were both so very boring and painfully ordinary that he was sure Mycroft would rather swallow raw goldfish caught with his bare hands than spend even an hour with these two men.

.

.

He wasn’t sure when he fell asleep but as soon as he woke up the next day his first thought was --- _maybe it was someone he didn’t meet too often…..could it be someone who did not live in London?_

_That was going to be so much more difficult to find….but find him he would._

_If he had to chase him to the ends of the earth…._

_._

_._

So he was already in a very Bad Mood even before he left his bedroom that morning.

Then the day just got worse when, despite refusing the case three times, Lestrade finally forced him to a crime scene. It was a ridiculous case, barely a 5. He solved it in ten minutes and walked out in a huff, with John following him breathlessly.

“Fantastic!” John had said as they walked off at a rapid pace and Sherlock had almost growled at him in reply.

They had just crossed the street towards Westminster Abbey again when Sherlock suddenly froze in his tracks.

John had walked on at the speed they were going and stopped, bewildered, when he realized what had happened, and turned around---to see Sherlock staring at someone with such intense fury that John was surprised the man hadn’t caught fire!

He was looking at a tall man standing at quite a distance, with his back to them, a long coat worn over an impeccable suit. From that distance it seemed to John that it could have been Mycroft. Maybe….

_But why would that incite such rage?_

He tried to remember when they had last encountered Mycroft and what could possibly have happened.

The crowd parted and his view cleared up a bit.

He saw that ‘Mycroft’ had his right hand on someone’s back. Even from this distance it looked like a possessive touch and the man whose back he was touching was standing very close to him. As he was watching, the other man, almost as tall as ‘Mycroft’ looked up and smiled.

John still couldn’t understand what had happened to make Sherlock angry, so he turned to ask him and found that the Consulting Detective had disappeared.

John looked around and was about to give up and call him on the phone when he saw him. Striding at great speed towards ‘Mycroft.’ So John took off behind him in a sprint, hoping to avoid any potential bloodshed.

He reached close to them just in time to see Sherlock almost tear the man’s hand off from the other man’s back and stare as the two men turned around in shock.

They were both complete strangers.

.

.

Sherlock was still standing there almost breathing fire from his nostrils, his fists clenching and unclenching.

John steered him away, holding him by his elbow, apologizing profusely to the two men even as he walked away.

“What the HELL Sherlock?? What is wrong??”

“My.” Sherlock mumbled and then refused to say a single word for the rest of the day.

.

.

His phone pinged with a text message at night. _Mycroft_. _Ugh._

He read it with a frown.

[ _Sherlock for heaven’s sake stop lurking around and stalking me near my home and office and scaring off people near the House of Lords. I had to come out to the garden that day to eat my sandwich just to keep an eye on you. I am away for four days from tonight but come over for dinner next Friday_. MH]

.

.

John heard something being hurled again Sherlock’s bedroom door and falling down with a crash. _Was it a phone?!_

He waited….. but no other projectiles appeared to be launched.

Then he ordered a takeaway for dinner and knocked on the bedroom door till Sherlock stormed out in a fury, ready to bite his head off.

John nagged him till he ate a few bites of the food.

Then he watched as Sherlock stomped back to his bedroom and slammed the door shut.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is not sure what is happening. He shares his concerns with Greg.
> 
> Greg examines all the evidence, adds some clues from the past that John hasn't seen and ...hmm.... our grey haired gorgeous D.I may have spotted what the Consulting Detective is being blind to.

John came home from the clinic the next day to find Sherlock lying on the sofa with his legs up against the wall, head almost falling off, waving his hands in front of his face.

If it was one of his patients he would have treated him for having a nervous breakdown but he had seen Sherlock like this before. He knew he was going through his Mind Palace, moving ‘files’ and memories and looking for something.

He went to make tea for both of them.

He found the skull in the microwave, cigarettes in the freezer and every single tea bag missing. Every single one.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. He felt a headache coming.

He had no idea what had happened but he realized that Sherlock had been behaving even more weird than usual this last week.

That question he had wanted him to answer on paper, then refusing a case three times because he was ‘busy’ when he had been doing nothing but staring at the walls for five days, the embarrassing scene yesterday with those two men….

He needed a drink. Badly.

He texted Greg and they agreed to meet at a pub near the Yard since Greg was still at work, finishing paperwork from the day’s case and would be free by 8pm.

.

.

John reached there to find Greg already seated, nursing his own drink and a full glass ready and waiting for him. He slid in and raised the glass in a toast. He took a long sip and then kept the glass down with a deep sigh.

“Himself still in a snit then?” Greg asked with his eyebrows raised.

“Worse.” John said with a groan and then told Greg what had happened near Westminster Abbey.

Greg listened with a deepening frown and they sat in silence for a few minutes when John finished talking. Finally he spoke.

“Sherlock asked me an odd question the other day you know. About who Mycroft loves. And today you say this man looked a bit like Mycroft from a distance…Can’t imagine Sherlock making such a mistake though…..”

“I am worried Greg.” John said frankly. “You know he has been going to visit Eurus. He and Mycroft seemed to be getting better at being around each other ever since that entire house of horrors we endured…….but then he went to Mycroft’s house ten days ago-- for ‘after- dinner drinks’ he said, which was weird enough in itself …..and ever since he came back….” He trailed off and shrugged.

Greg continued to look into his drink, deep in thought.

“Oh and he asked me also.” John suddenly continued. “Told me to write down the names of who I thought Mycroft cared for deeply. Went off in a huff when I told him I couldn’t think of any name.”

“You couldn’t either huh?” Greg said with a shake of his head. “No one besides Sherlock obviously.”

“Yeah. I told him the same thing.” John replied.

Greg was silent for a beat. Then he said, slowly, thoughtfully. “If it were anyone else and given the incident that happened today I would have said he was jealous ……..of someone he thinks Mycroft cares for deeply.”

John looked at him utterly perplexed, frowning.

“Hey I didn’t say it made sense. This is the Holmes brothers we are talking about.” Greg replied holding his hands out palms up

“But why would he be jealous?” John asked, confused. “He behaves so badly with Mycroft the whole time. I mean, now, after all the disasters at Sherringford it is obvious that they care for each other very deeply but…….jealous?”

Greg drank up his entire glass and went to get more. He came back and drank up almost the entire glass again.

“Are you ok?” John asked him.

“Well…I just thought of something.” Greg said.

“Yes, ok out with it!” John exclaimed.

“Do you think…….” Greg started out. “Nah. It’s too weird, even for them.”

“What? Greg!! For goodness sake, what?!”

Greg scratched his head. “Well. Maybe he IS jealous. Maybe he is jealous because……he loves Mycroft.”

“Yeah, he does, obviously.” John said. “But I am not jealous of Clara even though Harry loves her. I mean that’s just…….”and John stopped talking as he realized that Greg had a very odd expression on his face indeed.

“No….no no no no no. No. Greg. NO. Just no.” John said, holding his hand out in a gesture of firm denial. “That’s just…no. It’s absurd….and illegal. It still is isn’t it?”

“Hey, relax. It’s just a working hypothesis. And yes, it is still illegal. Archaic laws. But it makes me wonder now if Mycroft has such a dire need to control everything because of the one thing he simply cannot? Sherlock….. and his feelings for him.” Greg said thoughtfully.

John just stared at him with his mouth open…...rendered completely speechless. _What was Greg suggesting ??!!_

“I have seen Mycroft at Sherlock’s hospital bedside often enough to know the depth of his feelings. I always assumed they were brotherly but…. you know what? If these two utterly unique, incredibly brilliant and completely batshit crazy men find someone to love….. who also loves them back, I don’t care who it is , but I for one am not going to be hauling them off to jail in this lifetime.” Greg said, calm brown eyes looking at John.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg tries an intervention through mind games and Sherlock confronts Mycroft again.

Two more days of Sherlock playing the most plaintive music on his violin, jumping on the sofa in restless energy and shouting for tea at all odd hours had John at the end of his tether.

He finally texted Greg.

[ _At this point I don’t care if he is in love with the bloody Queen herself Greg, we need an intervention. We can’t carry on like this_.]

{Ok. Will drop in after work tomorrow. GL}

.

.

The next evening Greg came in using his key.

Sherlock looked up from the sofa, still in his dressing gown, hair tousled and a manic gleam in his eyes.

“Case?” he asked, with that haughty hopeful tone he had perfected over the years.

“Yeah. Odd one this.” Greg said, shrugging off his coat and sitting down on the client chair. “Not sure it’s your kind of thing though.”

Sherlock sat up a bit.

John came down from his room and gave a fairly good impression of being surprised to see Greg.

“Oh, hi Greg. Cuppa tea?” he asked.

“Sure.” Greg said as he settled in, picking up a newspaper from the coffee table and reading it, ignoring Sherlock altogether.

“Lestrade! Are you under the impression that you are at Speedy’s? Did you come here for tea and the papers?” Sherlock said, appalled at being ignored.

“Hmm?” Greg asked him in a distracted manner.

“John!” Sherlock almost yelled. “Tell him to go away if he doesn’t have any interesting case!”

John came out with two cups of tea and gave one to Greg and sat down with his own cup, also ignoring Sherlock completely.

“So, any headway in that case you were talking about the other day?”

“Not yet. It’s a tricky one you know. May need to do a psych profile. This man, probably in his 30s, formed a deep emotional attachment to this older man, but was unable to accept it. Which is fine, I mean half the world is living in denial at the best of times.” Greg shrugged. “The trouble started when he wouldn’t let this older man enter any other relationship. He wanted him for himself but he wouldn’t say so. The older man grew frustrated but, and here is the real problem—he cared for the younger man--- too much to let go or to see him get hurt.”

“Then what happened?” John asked, sounding very worried.

“Nothing. They just carried on like ships passing in the night. But inevitably they grew older and one day the older man died, without ever knowing how the younger one had felt for him and never able to express his own feelings either.”

“Oh that sounds terrible Greg.” John said, genuine sorrow in his voice. “Unrequited love on both sides? And that too for each other? What a waste…That younger man…what a terrible thing to live with….”

Sherlock had been sitting up fully by now and listening with great interest despite himself. “But why is this your case? There is no murder! And they are both idiots. Obviously.”

“Oh I know. They are. Idiots. But brilliant idiots.” Greg said with a wry smile. “And they wouldn’t listen to advice from a plod like me would they? Anyway, it’s not a case from the Yard. That’s why I said it may not interest you. It involves someone I am fond of. A lot. I would like to help him but I don’t know how to. Mycroft may know him in fact. I had mentioned it to John the other day…so….anyway I was just passing by. Thanks for the cup of tea John. See you around.”

He got up to wear his coat and stopped as he reached the door. “Oh Sherlock, did you get the answer to your question about Mycroft?”

He was answered by a thunderous scowl from the genius.

“Did you?” Greg asked again, hand on the doorknob.

“No. I did NOT. Because everyone is so TEDIOUS.” And Sherlock turned around and lay down on the sofa again, with his back to everyone.

Greg and John looked at each other and shrugged.

All those years of interrogation techniques had given Greg a good sense of how to plant ideas in someone’s head and get them to cooperate.

John had agreed that given Sherlock’s capacity for looping around unsolved cases, this might intrigue him enough to get him to realize what was happening inside that genius brain of his.

.

.

After half an hour Sherlock got up abruptly, got dressed and left.

“Going out. Back soon.” He yelled up to John’s room.

.

.

He went to Mycroft’s house and rang the doorbell.

Mycroft let him in, one eyebrow arched.

“We can’t keep meeting like this.” He joked. “People will talk.”

“They do little else.” Sherlock retorted as he breezed in.

“I thought I asked you to come over on Friday.” Mycroft said placidly, closing the door behind him.

“Well it’s not like you are meeting him today are you?” Sherlock said in an annoyed voice. “All you do is go to your office and come back and drop in at Baker Street once a week. Boring.”

He went in and sat down on the sofa and glared at Mycroft. “What would you do if you had him?”

Mycroft took a deep breath. Sherlock wasn’t going to leave without at least some answers. He could do this. He had to do this. Having opened Pandora’s box, he could only hope to contain the fallout to some extent. Hopefully the D.I will soon have a more interesting case and Sherlock will let go.

“Go on, tell me.” Sherlock asked again, impatiently. “What would you do if you had him?”

“I would never let him go.” He said.

Sherlock looked at him thoughtfully. “But you said you couldn’t be together that way. So, then where would you stay with him?”

Mycroft smiled. “I would buy an island and live there with him. And I wouldn’t need anyone else in the world. But he might I think…….so I can’t.”

“How long have you known him?”

“Too long. My entire life. His entire life.”

“Is he from the Middle East or Russia or someplace where being gay would be dangerous?”

“No.”

“Is it is the Japanese Ambassador?”

“What?! No! Why?” Mycroft was completely baffled.

“Well apparently he is the only one with whom you have voluntarily had dinner twice. Not official ones.”

“Ah, well, we do get along. You know how difficult as well as dangerous it is to form relationships with people I know through work. He was different. Very different. A Zen Buddhist. We both shared a love for Haiku.”

“Haiku.” Sherlock snorted. “Trust you. Even your poetry has to be all minimalist and refined.”

Mycroft had a far-away look in his eyes as he recited:

“I thought it was over

Until you came my way just yesterday

And I fall blindly again.”

 

“Spare me the lovesick ballads Mycroft. Recite them to him. Answer my questions. Is this someone we both know?”

“Sherlock, please stop.” Mycroft said firmly. “This is not a puzzle to be solved. This is someone I lo…….this is personal. It is not a crime scene and there are no clues.”

“Oh you think so, do you? You did a big reveal at Sherringford.”Sherlock replied, smugly.

Mycroft paled. _What had he said??_

“You confessed that you had a heart.” Sherlock informed him.

“Oh yes ……and no.” Mycroft mused.

“What do you mean?”

“I do have a heart but I gave it away to him….so long ago….that I am sure it really isn’t mine anymore. Stop interrogating me Sherlock. I can never reveal the name because I will always do right by him.”

“No matter how much it hurts you?” Sherlock asked, outraged.

“Yes. That is exactly what love is Sherlock… Unconditional. No matter what.”

Sherlock seemed deep in thought for a minute, fingers steepled under his chin.

Mycroft looked at him with a curious mixture of despair and sorrow and fondness. Like he wanted to shake him and kiss him and send him away all at the same time.

Then Sherlock asked “Do you think about him?”

“Constantly.”

“If he asks for you will you be there for him?”

“Always.”

“But you won’t tell him?”

“No.”

“What if he loves you back??! What if he is waiting for you to tell him first??” Sherlock almost yelled at him, seething with fury. “How will YOU ever know?? How will HE ever know?? You are an IDIOT. And he is a BIGGER idiot. Just like those men Greg was talking about. First class idiots. Both of you” Sherlock muttered and abruptly got up and left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haiku is a form of poetry, first made popular in Japan. Haiku poets are challenged to convey a vivid message in only 17 syllables. One of the greatest Haiku poets was the Samurai, Basho (1644-94).


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock is still trapped in his own assumptions but we are moving closer to the endgame:) So that the readers aren't also waiting forever :P

It was now the third night in a row that he had not slept and he was tired.

His body was tired, despite John almost force-feeding him some dinner. He was too tired to even play the violin today, or get up from the sofa.

His brain was exhausted.

He had gone through every single room in his Mind Palace. Six times over. He had revisited every memory _of_ Mycroft and _with_ Mycroft. There were so many new ones emerging from hidden places, ever since Sherringford, but he had sifted through them all.

He glanced over images of Mycroft reading to him, playing with him, looking after him when he had fallen and hurt himself, teaching him patterns and deductions.

He remembered Mycroft’s bed, which always seemed more comfortable than his own. Mycroft in his pajamas, his clean washed smell, mingled with the smell of the bed linen, the old books by the bedside. His soothing voice murmuring in his ear, his slender hands petting his hair and rubbing his back.

He saw the 11 year old Sherlock crying and angry when the teenage Mycroft was saying goodbye to go to college.

But this time he made sure to look at Mycroft’s face also and saw despair and such desperation. He saw Mycroft turning to ask his father something and it seemed as though he was asking for the car to be stopped so he could get down and go back to Sherlock but father shook his head. No.

Sherlock paused and thought about what that meant before he moved his hands in the air to shift the memory ‘files’.

Now he could see Mycroft in London, sitting by him as he came down from the drugs. He made sure to turn and see his face and once again saw that same despair and desperation. He looked carefully and realized that the soft smiling pudgy boy who had left for college was gone now. A more elegant, slim young man sat there with a serious expression on his face.

_“Please Sherlock”_ he was saying. “ _Promise me there will always be a list_.”

Tedious. 

He frowned and moved some more files away. Searching, searching for anyone who may have had a connection with the potential to be the one Mycroft would wait for………forever..

.

.

Sherlock saw images upon images of Mycroft in his Mind Palace–always with him, talking to him, looking out for him, bringing him cases.

Forever standing there in the backdrop of his entire life. Waiting for him. Watching him.

So when in his life had he met this mysterious man he had given his heart to??

There was simply no evidence…...

.

.

He saw the Christmas dinners over the years with Mycroft refusing second helpings of Mummy’s apple pie because of Sherlock’s incessant teasing about his weight.

On an impulse Sherlock rotated the memory by 90 degrees and looked into Mycroft’s eyes. He was looking into them directly now. And Mycroft’s eyes were wistful. Always so wistful.

_Had he already met the person whose love he could not have?_

But Sherlock had not seen any such potential person!! Mycroft was always either at work or with his brother.

_How was he supposed to find a work related person when everything was so cloak and dagger?!_

This was simply too frustrating for words _._

_Was he going to be driven to asking Mycroft directly?!_

That would never do. Mycroft would never ever tell him because if there was ever a test of willpower then Mycroft would win the Olympics Gold Medal for it.

But…..a part of his brain reminded him---the only one he could never say no to was his younger brother.

_So…if he made himself really ill and demanded the answer…surely that was it!!_

_That would be the solution!_

He slapped himself on the forehead _. Why didn’t he think of that earlier?!_

_._

_._

_But how would he do it?_

He could take drugs but Greg had been very thorough the last time and cleaned out every last bit from the flat. He was too exhausted to go out and even find his drug dealer.

John had threatened to shoot Billy Wiggins if he saw him near Sherlock again…..so that was also not a possible option.

Oh, he knew! He would simply refuse to eat or drink any more……and then John would be forced to call Mycroft.

Of course Mycroft would always come if Sherlock was unwell.

And then when he came he would demand that he tell him or he would refuse treatment.

_Yes, that was the most perfect plan._


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's plan works and finally the grand moment of revelation !!

Sherlock was already tired and weak, so, it only took one more day of fasting and water deprivation to break him.

John was out at the clinic all day so he didn’t notice until he got back and saw Sherlock almost passed out on the sofa. He ran to him and checked his pulse and found it thready and weak.

“You IDIOT!” John shouted at him as he called for an ambulance and arranged for Sherlock to be moved to the hospital for IV fluids.

.

.

When Sherlock regained consciousness he became aware of three voices in the room.

John. _Of course._

Greg. _Always._

And Mycroft. _Brilliant! His plan had worked._

_._

_._

“I worry about him.” Mycroft was saying, deep weariness in his voice. “Constantly.”

Greg cleared his throat and said, “Mycroft, once he gets better I think you need to talk to him.”

“About what Inspector?” Mycroft asked in an even tone.

“Oh you know, everything that happened at Sherrigford …..and perhaps before...I know both of you don’t do ‘feelings’ but maybe the time has come to…..” John said and then trailed off.

“I assure you Dr. Watson, I will do anything that he needs to get better. I will be there for him. I will always be there for him.”

Greg was speaking again. “I can’t bear to see him like this Mycroft. I thought those years were behind us. You, me, his hospital bed.”

“Hey, hold on!!” they both spoke suddenly. There seemed to be some shuffling and sounds of a chair being dragged.

Greg said. “You seem exhausted too Mycroft. You should take better care of yourself.”

Sherlock opened his eyes a tiny bit to see what was happening. _Was Mycie unwell?_

Greg and John seemed to be helping Mycroft to a chair.

Mycroft took a deep breath, drank some water from a glass that John offered him.

Then he spoke. “What happened to Sherlock?”

“He has been working hard at solving a puzzle.” Greg said. “A really important one.”

“Nothing is more important than him. “ Mycroft said, shaking his head, his voice almost trembling. “His loss would break my heart.”

" Well he needs to take better care of himself you know." John said in an exasperated tone. " He is an adult now. How long can he expect us to look after him??"

" I don't know about you Dr Watson." Mycroft said with steel in his voice. " But I will look after him....forever."

There was thick silence in the room.

.

.

Sherlock struggled and sat propped up on his elbow and reached out the other hand to Mycroft.

All the words of the past few weeks were coming back to him, reaching him through a fog that was clearing rapidly. All the missing pieces were falling into place.

Like a symphony orchestra in its final movement, all the notes were reaching a crescendo.

_Who does Mycroft love?_

_Besides you…….?_

_Who does he care for?_

_Besides you………?_

_We can never be together……..I will always do right by him…_

_My entire life._

_His entire life._

_I gave him my heart._

_Unrequited love on both sides?_

_And that too for each other?_

_That younger man…what a terrible thing to live with…._

_I will always be there for you….._

_I worry about you._

_Constantly._

_Your loss would break my heart._

_._

.

“Mycie?” he whispered.

“Yes Sherlock. I am here.” Mycroft replied, leaning forward to take his hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Mycie….the one you will wait for forever….is it…me?!” Sherlock asked softly.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and John are Knights- in- shining- armour as the royally confused pair sort themselves out :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge Thank You to LadyGlinda, MistressClarity, SammySatine, PersephoneHemingway, XKurapikaX, ClioCore, tungstenpincenez, Elsa9, Duneline, one_two_three for all your wonderful comments and for making this such a fun ride !!!
> 
> Hope to see you all soon at the next fic!!

Mycroft froze in his chair.

All the men in the room held their breath.

Time and space were warped at the edge as though being pulled out of shape by a black hole and no one dared blink in case they missed the end of the known universe.

_NO! Of course not. Do not be an idiot Sherlock. It is absurd…and illegal and …why in heaven’s name would you imagine anything so utterly nonsensical_ ….is what Mycroft wanted to say.

He wanted to shake Sherlock and walk out and never look back. He wanted the floor to open up and swallow him up. He wanted to vanish and never speak of this again. He wanted to go back in time and have never said that sentence about waiting forever.

He simply could not say a single word of all that and he was rooted to the spot.

.

.

Then, of all the people in the world, Eurus turned up in his Mind Palace.

“Remember where he pointed his gun when you asked him to shoot your heart? He pointed it to himself. Do you really think that somewhere deep inside his Mind Palace he doesn’t know how you feel? Emotional context dear brother! How long will you be able to hide it?” She said.

.

.

While all this was going on inside his brain at the speed of light, Greg and John were standing there and waiting.

Sherlock was still holding Mycroft’s hand as though it was a lifeline.

Greg and John waited for a very long minute and then another one. They looked at each other.

When it seemed that neither Mycroft nor Sherlock were capable of saying anything further, Greg decided to speak.

“You know, after what happened at Sherringford, it may be wise to not wait forever to reveal one’s feelings. But that’s just my opinion.” He said, shrugging and looking at John. “What do you think John?”

“Yeah, I think you are right Greg.” John said. “After all, it’s difficult enough finding someone you love. But then the coincidence that they love you back?! I mean surely the universe is not that lazy…..”

Mycroft tore his gaze away from Sherlock and looked at the two of them with growing bewilderment.

_Were they saying what he thought they were? If they had also figured it out was there any point in denial now? Even if Sherlock hated him after this confession he needed to be brave and do it now. Soldiers today._

“So,” Greg said, “We are just going to get some coffee and leave you two alone.”

“We are sure you have things to say.” John said and then they left the room.

.

.

“Mycie.” Sherlock said again. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Mycroft through all this conversation. He tightened the grip on their interlaced fingers.

“Please tell me. Is it me?”

Mycroft looked at that beloved face, terrified and ashamed.

_Yes_ Mycroft nodded. “I am sorry. I am so SO sorry Sherlock…... I shouldn’t …..it’s not right. I would never….”

“You would never have told me…. because you wanted to do right by me.” Sherlock said, sitting up fully now.

_Yes_ Mycroft nodded, looking utterly miserable, eyes downcast.

Sherlock reached out and touched his cheek. “Do you think anyone can _ever_ love me more than you do Mycie?”

_No_ Mycroft shook his head helplessly, leaning into his hand.

Sherlock rubbed his thumb against his lower lip. “Can anyone ever care for me as deeply as you do Mycie?”

_No_ Mycroft shook his head again.

Sherlock swung his feet off the bed and sat up, facing Mycroft. He held out both his hands and Mycroft held them and helped him stand up.

They stood there, holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes, as the entire world fell away around them.

“Is there anyone else on this planet who deserves to be with me brother mine?” Sherlock asked, smiling.

No! Mycroft shook his head, firmly now.

“So this IS doing right by me Mycie. By loving me. And you know I have always been the impatient one. I can’t wait for ‘forever’! I want this now. So come here and give me a kiss! Before these two idiots come back. Obviously they managed to figure it out before me and I am never going to hear the end of it!”

.

.

Whenever Sherlock thought of that evening in later years, (and he thought of it often) it felt like a dream.

Like diving into a spectacular impressionist painting, swimming in clear waters while also flying in blue skies, listening to the chorus of angels. It felt as though he had an out- of- body experience which was simultaneously divine and terrifying.

He understood the source of all art and poetry and everything was love. He felt the beginning of the universe and the death of the Sun.

What was the meaning of life but to love?

He felt as though he was floating on an ocean of enchantment and if he had been asked right then if it was night or day or up or down, he would have probably just smiled and asked whether it mattered anymore?

Mycroft too was no longer aware of his surroundings. This was magic and enchantments and all kinds of divine. This was rapture. This was ecstasy. This was euphoria. This was the song of angels and the gates of heaven and this was the purpose of his very existence and all he wanted to do for the rest of his life was to worship at the altar of this new god and never let go of this embrace.

It was too much and not nearly enough.

.

.

A good quarter of an hour passed before they disentangled themselves and emerged for some much needed oxygen.

They both looked wrecked and glowing with joy. Their hair was mussed, lips were swollen, shirts rumpled and neither could stand because their knees were wobbling.

Sherlock lay down on his bed, exhausted from this exertion after the weeks of mental fatigue.

Then he started laughing. He laughed till tears were streaming down his cheeks.

Mycroft looked alarmed. “Are you ok Sherlock? Please….I fully understand if you change your mind. After all…….”

“Oh for heaven’s sake Mycie! Stop it. Do you want to know why I am laughing?? Because while I was trying to deduce who you may have lost your heart to, I had imagined the perfect man. Handsome, well dressed, brilliant, refined, cultured. I imagined you taking him to see Dippy and both of you wearing silk pajamas and sleeping together on your bed after drinks in front of the fireplace. I was going mad with jealousy and that man I saw near the House of Lords …..I was going to rip his arm off because I couldn’t bear the thought of anyone touching you or you touching anyone!”

Mycroft looked amused but still worried.

“And who did you end up with?” Sherlock was still giggling. “Me. Me?!! An ex-junkie, who wears a bedsheet to the Palace? Who is idiotic enough to have not recognized this…this love… my whole life? Who sleeps without any pajamas and who will not sit with you by the fireplace and discuss Middle-Eastern geopolitics? The only plus point is that I already know Dippy. Why Mycie?”

Sherlock paused and continued softly, with the faintest tremor in this voice. “Why would someone as perfect as you settle for someone like me?”

Mycroft was staring at Sherlock in growing astonishment through this monologue.

Now he almost exploded. “Settle for you?? Settle for you? Sherlock! You really are an idiot.”

He came near him and held his face in his hands. He spoke softly, punctuating his words with kisses on Sherlock’s face, lips, eyes, cheeks.

“Oh, my adorable—beloved--- gorgeous---love----You do realize that I did not need someone to be perfect so I could love them? I fell in love with you-----you--- and that made you---- perfect for me---And I really would have waited forever.”

Mycroft spoke, even more seriously. “Sherlock, I am far from perfect and have made more mistakes than I can ever tell you about…..It is you who is settling for me. But you have to believe me. If not this lifetime, maybe in the next, but I would have truly waited forever, because I know that you are and will always be the only one for me.”

Sherlock had tears flowing freely at this declaration of love that was too much for his newly discovered heart to hold.

“Oh Mycie….. as always you are miles ahead of me ……I am just starting on this journey and you will have to teach me so many things…… and while I know that I would  never have been able to _wait_ forever....I also know that I do intend to _love you_ forever…..”

.

.

Greg and John had been standing guard outside the door and had just finished their coffee when they heard Sherlock’s hysterical laughter some minutes back and then a baffling silence.

John was insisting on going in right away, terrified of what they might find.

But Greg had held him back calmly. “Relax John. It’s going to be fine.”

Ten minutes later John was pacing up and down and cursing freely , when Greg finally decided to knock and enter.

They will never forget the wondrous sight that greeted them.

They saw their favourite Drama Queen and the legendary Ice King, standing with their hands around each other’s waist, with an expression of worshipful adoration on their faces.

They barely noticed the two of them come in.

Greg felt a load lift off his chest that he had not even realized was there.

This! This was the reason. Not all the cases he solved and not the free work he did for the Yard. This moment is what he had saved Sherlock for.

Every time he had held his hands during the drug withdrawals, every time that he had found him in drug dens and brought him back from the brink…..It had all been for this. For this glorious moment.

He could weep.

.

.

Meanwhile John stood there, going hot and cold all over when he remembered that moment in Sherringford when Mycroft had offered to sacrifice himself. He sent up a hundred grateful prayers in Dari and Pashto and English and took a vow.

This wonderful and amazing man who had been his best friend once and who he had let down badly, and so often----he would do whatever it took to make sure he got the happiness he deserved.

.

.

Greg realized that a Very Serious conversation would be needed among all four of them soon, if these two were to get their Happily Ever After.

But for now, he and John deserved a high five! For once they had got the better of the Holmes brothers and what a sweet victory it was!

.

.

And this is where we leave them gentle readers--- Greg and John laughing as they give each other a high five, Mycroft almost floating off the ground with so much happiness and joy as he had never believed possible and Sherlock never more delighted to have been so utterly wrong in every deduction!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this fic I shall shamelessly recommend a story I wrote earlier called All I want for Christmas ! The same pair, the same angsty journey !   
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/16706482/chapters/39182236
> 
> Also--eloquated and I are co-writing a story based on letters between Sherlock and Mycroft during the two years that he was away. It is called Come Back Safe ( You Belong to Me)
> 
> And if you love Mycroft and Mylock , I have been putting together a collection of his stories in a compendium called For the Love of All things Mycroft. Check it out ! And enjoy :)  
> https://archiveofourown.org/series/1175414


End file.
